


No Way Back

by Oneirogenic



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneirogenic/pseuds/Oneirogenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time—to climb over two rows of desks and to stop in front of Mark, breathing heavily, eyes wild and frightened. "MARK," he wheezed. Mark looked up at him, bewildered into silence. "Lab...partners."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Strong language, violence and sexual situations in later chapters. There is also some mild fatphobic, misogynistic and ableist language used by the characters that does not reflect the values and beliefs of the authors. Craig isn't as socially aware as he could be.  
>  **Author's Note** :Victory! I have been meaning to write this story for probably about five years now and with the awesome collaborative help of omgrocketships, it's finally managing to write itself.
> 
> I'm sure there are probably some people out there thinking, "Who's Mark?" or "What the balls is this Mark/Craig bullshit?" If you are, stop what you are doing and go watch "Hooked on Monkey Fonics." It's in the third season. It has Ronnie James Dio and heavy Star Trek references. It's a good episode. You'll thank me. Anyway, if you read this, THANK YOU! You are awesome and probably very smart and attractive.

"Is it me, or do the freshmen just seem to get smaller every year?"

Craig grunted in reply, rubbing his eyes against the harsh glare of florescent light. He stood in the hallway, wrinkled schedule clutched in his hand, waiting outside of his English class with a vaguely miserable expression. The first day of school had long since stopped being exciting in any capacity and now, come junior year, was more of an inconvenience—peppered with anxiety and exhaustion—than anything else.

"Craig, I'm serious, look at that kid. He can't be more than, like, ten or some shit." Clyde nudged him in the ribcage with an elbow when Craig remained unresponsive.

"Don't be silly, they're not that shor—Oh my, that one?"

Still unwilling to acknowledge Clyde, Craig looked up to see Pip craning his neck to see through the throng of slowly-moving bodies.

"Yeah, that guy. Look at him, he's all funsize." Clyde practically giggled as he pointed him out for Pip, not even attempting subtlety. He looked far more excited than Craig thought he had any right to. "I want to go see if I can pick him up. I'm totally gonna go see if I can pick him up."

"Oh god," Tweek mumbled, burying his horrified face in the worn-out sleeves of his sweatshirt. "No, Clyde."

Clyde looked between Tweek and what Craig assumed to be the boy, then finally back to Tweek. "Come on," he whined, looking over at Craig, a sort of hopeful expression on his face. "Craig totally wants to see that. Don't you, Craig?"

Craig snapped to attention as his name was said, but quickly sunk back into his groggy, semiconscious state, only bothering to roll his eyes because if he didn't show some sort of disapproval, Clyde would be off in seconds, trying to lift a freshman over his head. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to see Clyde lift a freshman over his head, because in any usual circumstance, he really would have. Right now, though, his desire for everyone, Clyde especially, to be as miserable as he was outweighed his desire for any sort of freshman-lifting shenanigans.

"Oh, dear, I think we've lost him anyway," Pip said, almost sadly. "He was rather small."

"Aww. Bummer," Clyde said, heaving a melodramatic sigh before he turned to Craig. "Dude, seriously, you're even less responsive than usual. I can go bug Kevin for some caffeine pills if you're just going to mope around all tired and shit."

Craig let his head fall back against the wall, thudding it a couple of times. "I don't..." _Thud_. "Want..." _Thud_. "To be here." _Thud._ The pain was almost preferable to Clyde's voice.

Tweek hesitated a moment before placing his hand between Craig's head and the wall. Craig looked down at him. "I don't."

"I don't...I don't think any of us do, Craig." Tweek frowned, looking over at Clyde, who was greeting the teacher with far too cheerful an expression. "Except for Clyde. I don't know why."

"Because he's an idiot and I hate him." Craig closed his eyes for a second before straightening up and heaving himself off to class.

 

*** * ***

 

"Alright, that's everything," Mr. Snyder mumbled near the end of class, tapping the desk awkwardly before adjusting his glasses. "It looks like we've still got..." He squinted at the clock. "Fifteen minutes, jeeze. I guess just talk amongst yourselves. Socialize. Read, even, if the mood takes you!"

Craig rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly, turning around in his desk to face Clyde. "Fucking Snyder. Again."

Clyde grinned. "I know, it's great, isn't it? Quality entertainment. We should start a pool on when he'll bring up his trip to Tibet. My guess is he'll mention it casually every other class starting next week, but only go into detail sometime around midterms once nobody asks him about it."

Token leaned over his desk, speaking quietly, head low. "Better idea: we should bring it up sometime in the next few days and see how long we can string him along with questions. Thirty bucks says we can get him to do it for at least half of the class."

Pip frowned. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Clyde opened his mouth to explain, but Token interrupted him. "You'll see. We'd hate to ruin it for you. Snyder is..."

"An experience," Clyde finished for him. "Token, I bet you ten bucks and a firm handshake that we could get him to do it until the last seven minutes of class, when he suddenly realizes that he hasn't even opened the lesson yet and has to cram it all into the time left. Tweek!"

Craig could see Tweek's face pop out behind Clyde's shoulder, a look of absolute horror on his face. "WHAT? Jesus, what do you want?"

"You seem like a betting man." Clyde said over his shoulder. "What do you wager?"

"I want _no_ part of this," Tweek hissed.

"Fine, fine. Just trying to extend the courtesy," Clyde relented, turning his attention back to Craig. "Please tell me you're going to get in on this."

Craig shook his head, grunting, when suddenly a grating, polyphonic version of Gary Numan's "Cars" rang out against the quiet buzz of voices. The entire class looked around for the source of the noise, except for Pip, whose eyes went wide at the jarring sound. The class watched as he grabbed his bag and dug around furiously, finally pulling out a cellphone that looked like it should have belonged to someone's mother.

"Phillip, I know my students think I'm a _cool guy_ and everything, but I'm going to have to ask you to put that awa—"

"Shit." Pip interrupted, looking at the screen. "Shit," he repeated, standing up. He went to leave, but stopped, then looked as though he had only just realized that he had interrupted class and then cursed at the teacher. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but this truly is an emergency. I do hope you'll understand," he said, above the ceaseless repetition of what should have been Gary Numan's voice, but was instead an agonizing screech.

"I...Oh. Well," Snyder nodded. "Go ahead, then," he said, but Pip had already run out the door.

After a few seconds, the bewildered silence slowly subsided as people began to talk again.

Token, still looking at the door, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what that's all about."

"Who knows. Hey, Token, you have Mendoza for Spanish, right?" Clyde asked, tapping the back of Craig's chair with his pencil. Craig grabbed it away from him and flicked it to the floor, sending it skidding across the room.

"Huh?" Token finally looked away from the door. "Yeah. Seventh period."

"Sweeeet." Clyde looked satisfied with Token's answer. "So, like, hey—"

Clyde's voice faded into an indiscriminate soup of "dude"s and "bro"s as Craig rested his chin in his hands, wondering if anyone would notice if he crawled across the floor and slithered out of the open second story window. It was highly tempting, as his head had begun to pound, and the probable broken bones seemed like a generous trade-off for being able to escape. However, his reverie of falling with a sickening crack to the pavement below and dragging himself back to his warm bed to sleep for days was cut short by the bell and Tweek's accompanying scream.

A yell from Snyder about reading assignments and a shuffle of bodies, and they were in the hallway once again. Craig yawned and considered finding one of the soda machines scattered about the hallways, and then pulling it on top of himself. Or getting a Dr. Pepper. He reached into his pocket to see if he had enough change, following the flow of bodies toward the science rooms.

"Well, it's been fun," Token said amiably once they got there, stuffing his schedule into his jacket pocket. "See you guys later."

Craig stopped dead. "What the hell, aren't you in chemistry with us?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I signed up for Physics instead," Token replied. The blithe, matter-of-factness with which he said this made Craig want to slap him.

Clyde frowned, tilting his head as though he weren't hearing Token properly. "I thought we decided on Chemistry together because Quantum Physics gives Tweek panic attacks."

Tweek nodded in accord, then stopped, eyebrows knitting together thoughtfully.

"Yeah, sorry, man. I changed it last minute," Token said, rubbing his nose. "I, uh, actually like Physics."

Narrowing his eyes, Clyde pointed gravely at Token. "Consider yourself on notice, bro."

"Yeah," Craig agreed, then added, "ballbag."

Token rolled his eyes and bid them farewell, waving over his shoulder, in the same sort of cheerful, stupid way that made Craig question why he was friends with, well, anyone.

"Man, when did Token become such a ballbag?" Clyde asked, watching him slip into the Physics room. "He's tearing us apart. What of the children?"

Tweek sighed.

"Yeah, he's a dickhead," Craig grunted, grumpily folding his arms across his chest. "Fuck him."

"Language, Mr..."

Craig looked up to see an incredibly tall, incredibly old man staring him down. Craig was reminded of a vulture, or a six-foot-tall malnourished naked mole rat—the "naked" part of which making him shudder involuntarily. "Tucker," he replied, looking down at his feet. He didn't have it in him to buck authority, as well as the fact that he was practically pissing himself at the way the teacher was staring at him. It unsettled.

"Tucker," the teacher replied, nodding slowly, beady eyes drilling tiny holes into his face. Craig hesitated a minute before creeping past him, unsure of whether or not it was the right thing to do.

"Shit, man. First day and the creepy Chemistry teacher already has a hate-on for you." Clyde put his hand on Craig's shoulder before taking the seat behind him, as was usual. "That's impressive."

Craig sunk uneasily into his chair as the bell rang again, once more accompanied by a muffled scream.

 

*** * ***

 

"Biggle, Bradley..."

Suppressing a keening groan of unfathomable anguish, Craig's forehead hit the desktop in front of him. The teacher was only four names into roll-call, each name called out a personal attack on his psyche. It was making Craig feel legitimately depressed, instead of just abstractly miserable and half-asleep. He wasn't even groggy enough to drown it out anymore. The teacher's monotone death-rattle of a voice cut through his exhaustion like a laserbeam of despair, throwing him into some sort of bizarre, under-stimulated, yet hyper-alert state that was making his eyes throb.

"Campbell, Lola..."

Feeling Clyde tap him gently on the back, Craig waved a hand feebly at him. A folded piece of paper slipped over his shoulder and he sighed before opening it.

"Donovan, Clyde..."

"Here!" Clyde shouted, then prodded Craig again in the shoulder, this time with more force.

Craig looked down at the note, the messy handwriting meandering aimlessly across it, like a trail of despondent ants.

_This guy is making me so sad. I am seriously going to start shaking and crying in like two minutes if he doesn't cheer the fuck up or something. Also Tweek won't stop making this scared dog noise all like 'eeeeeeeee' into his hands and it's really starting to freak me out. Token is officially off notice and the is now leader of our group because he is the smartest and we are stupid and have poor judgment. Write me back ASAP with gentle words and tell me everything's going to be okay._

"Excuse me..."

Another voice, this one considerably less disheartening, sounded in the doorway.

Craig's eyes darted near the front of the class, searching for the source of whatever was stopping the tortuous roll-call. Who he saw made him stiffen, his eyes widening in a feeling that bordered on horror, but was more close to intense shock than anything.

"You're late," the teacher wheezed in reply.

"I'm sorry. There was a scheduling error. This is from the councilor."

Craig watched as a piece of paper was handed over, eyes glued to the scene.

"Name?"

"Cotswold. Mark Cotswold."

"Take your seat."

Craig watched as Mark looked around the class for an empty seat. He met Craig's eye and gave him a brief, wry smile before finding a seat near the other end of the room.

Lungs threatening to give out, Craig realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled sharply. Unblinking, he watched Mark take out his notebook, then a pen, and finally a thick paperback, which he arranged on his desk with a sort of disengaged expression. Mark's fingers tapped lightly on the paperback book before he picked it up, turning to a page that Craig could see that the page was dog-eared, at the beginning of a chapter. He strained his eyes to try to see what the book was.

A hand shook him out of his concentration, shoving at him roughly. "Dude," Clyde hissed behind him.

"Tucker, Craig."

Craig blinked, getting the feeling this wasn't the first time his name had been called. He looked over at Mark, hand shooting up as the teacher rattled out the first syllable of his last name again. He waited for Mark to turn around and laugh at him or something equally awful, but he only idly flipped the page in his book.

Breathing out again, Craig sunk low in his chair and wondered what he had done to deserve this.

 

*** * ***   


 

"Oh my god, that was the most upsetting class I have ever been in," Clyde yawned, stretching as they walked to study hall. "I'm even counting the time our eighth grade health teacher cried for the whole class because her husband had just left her for their pool boy...and then showed us videos of babies being born to scare us away from ever seeking a meaningful relationship. Like, that was messed up, but this was like, I dunno, but I'm pretty sure I need a hug and a cup of cocoa."

Tweek hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around Clyde briefly, giving him an awkward squeeze and then letting him go.

"Thank you, Tweek. I feel much better now." He looked at Craig expectantly. Craig just frowned.

"I'm not going to hug you," Craig grunted, replaying the events of class again in his head for the fifth time in past three minutes. Mark walks in, Mark talks to the teacher, Mark sits down, Mark reads, Craig looks like an asshole in front of Mark, Mark raises his hand to answer questions, Mark takes notes, Mark puts his things in his bag and goes up to the teacher, Clyde pulls Craig out of the classroom by the back of his shirt. Hugging Clyde was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment.

"Boo, you whore," Clyde retorted, opening the door for the three of them. The classroom was already half-full, but Craig made a bee-line for the back of the room, flopping unceremoniously into a desk and resting his toes on the metal basket at the bottom of the one in front of his. They all got settled, and before Clyde had the chance to open his mouth again, Craig spoke.

"Hey, did you notice Mark in that class?" he asked quietly, trying to sound casual. He cringed when he heard the sound of his voice, which was anything but casual.

Clyde looked up at him from the bag of Funions he had tucked under his desk. "Mark who?"

Craig reached over, grabbing the Funion from his hand and putting it in his mouth. It tasted awful, but he chewed it anyway, taking a deep breath. "Mark Cotswold. He was the homeschool kid who joined our class in third grade."

Recognition seemed to hit Clyde, because he was waving a Funion around thoughtfully. "Oh, oh, yeah, that kid! We duct-taped him to a bench. That was fuckin' hilarious."

Craig rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning. The fact that this was the first memory of Mark that came to Clyde's mind troubled him for reasons he was unsure of.

"Weren't you guys, like, friends for awhile?" Clyde asked, crunching. "Whatever happened to that guy?"

"He skipped to fifth grade the next year and, like, I dunno," Craig grumbled, messing with one of his hat strings. "He was a dick."

Clyde grinned. "Yeah, he was a badass. He almost broke Kyle's nose."

Craig unconsciously returned Clyde's grin, but caught his eye, swallowed, and straightened up in his seat. "Yeah, whatever, he's a dick."

"Clyde, please don't eat in the classrooms. It attracts ants," the freshman math teacher, whose name they had already forgotten, sighed idly, flipping the page of her magazine.

"Sorry Ms...Umfhafmh," Clyde mumbled out what may or may not have sounded something like her name. The teacher didn't respond, so he turned back to Craig. "So, did you see Lola in class? How the hell does she get hotter every year? Man I would ask her out, but she'd like, slowly ruin my life with her good looks and pretty, pretty hair."

Craig just grunted noncommittally and buried his face in his arms, attempting to block out Clyde's voice for long enough to fall asleep.

The rest of the day passed at a crawl, a lethargic blur of new and old teachers, syllabuses and textbooks and bad cafeteria food. When the fresh air hit Craig's lungs in the parking lot, he breathed deep the sweet air of freedom. It smelled kind of like motor oil and cigarette smoke, but it was sweet nonetheless. He found his eyes unconsciously scanning the bodies milling about the parking lot and scowled when Clyde tugged on his arm.

"Tweek's mom's here."

Craig looked over. "What?"

Clyde frowned, raising an eyebrow. "She's taking him to therapy?"

Tweek looked down at his scuffed shoes, fussing with his sleeves. When he didn't look up, Clyde squeezed him in a one-armed hug. "Sorry," Tweek mumbled against his shoulder.

"Hey, do you what you gotta." Clyde squeezed him again, then released him. "Craig's just being an ass. We'll try to muddle on without you in the meantime."

"Yeah, I'm just being an ass," Craig said, trying to smile. He pulled him in for a quick hug as well, feeling like a jerk. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Tweek nodded, lingering a moment once Craig released him before running off to climb into the back of his mother's car.

"Poor guy..." Clyde waited until the car had pulled out of the parking lot before he spoke again. "Do you want to go to my place?"

Craig grunted noncommittally, finding himself scanning the quickly emptying parking lot one more time as they walked.

"That's not even an answer."

Craig heaved a sigh, pulling open the car door.

Clyde gave him an exasperated look as he started the ignition. "Oh, come on. You've been even more of a butt-trumpet than usual today. What is up with you?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." Craig rubbed his eyes in a way he hoped was convincing.

"Bullshit, something's wrong." Clyde looked over at him again as he pulled out onto the road, eyebrow raised. "You're not even being your usual sandy self. You're just sad."

"Dog."

"Seriously, what is your deal?"

"DOG."

Clyde cursed loudly when he looked back at the road, slamming hard on the breaks. A scruffy, mustachioed dog was standing in the middle of the uneven pavement, licking at the asphalt with what could only be described as an all-consuming intensity the likes Craig had never seen on anybody's face, let alone a dog.

"Dammit. Every fucking day." Clyde stuck his head out of the window. "Tom Selleck, you get out of the road before you get yourself killed! What will the world be without your moustache! Think of the people!"

Tom Selleck, a name which Token had suggested in the middle of freshman year due to the dog's impressive moustache, continued licking the pavement, as thoughtful as ever.

Clyde honked his horn a couple of times before sighing and turning to Craig. "You're going to have to get out and shoo him away."

Craig scowled, silently hating Token for staying behind to do whatever the hell it was Token did when he stayed behind at school.

"Fine," he huffed as he got out, only then noticing that there were a few cars backed up behind Clyde's. One of them honked their horn, followed by a few others. Craig swallowed down his shame as he walked over to Tom Selleck.

"Go away, dog," he said, feeling stupid when the dog pointedly ignored him. He coughed, then hissed in a low voice, "I swear to god, Tom Selleck, I am going to run you down if you don't get out of the way because I have had a fucking _awful day_ and you are not making it any better." The dog looked up at him, then back down at the spot it had been licking ardently for the past two years, then back up at him, eyes watering slightly in what might have been either sympathy or just confusion as to why a strange human was making angry talky noises at it.

"GO AWAY." Craig waved his arms, and the dog seemed to make up its mind that its pavement licking endeavor could wait, trotting back over to the side of the road and sitting there patiently.

When he was sure Tom Selleck wasn't going to throw itself at the pavement as soon as he walked off, Craig lowered his arms and rushed back to the car. "Drive," he said, burying his face in his hands.

"Aye, Captain," Clyde stepped on the gas, horns still blaring behind them.

After a few quiet minutes punctuated only by the gentle waft of the last half of "Stairway," the car slowed by Craig's house. "Are you sure you don't want to come over? I don't trust you by yourself in this state," Clyde asked, his mock-concern slightly more concern than it was mock.

Craig shifted uncomfortably, considering his invitation again, but then decided that he'd rather be alone. He didn't trust Clyde not to bring up Mark again, and that was really not something he wanted to think about.

"Nah," he said, not looking him in the eye. "I need a fucking nap. I'm just gonna steal some of my mom's vodka and pass out for awhile."

"Text me later if you want to hang out, okay?" Clyde asked, voice quiet.

"Yeah," Craig relented. "I will."

Clyde patted his shoulder. "Stay away from any pointy objects and don't get too drunk, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

Clyde only drove off once he opened the door. Craig was tempted to text him and tell him to come back, but he refrained. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and dug around in the cabinet until he found the omnipresent bottle of cheap vodka. He poured some into a glass of orange juice, downed half of it in one go, then made his way upstairs. It only hit him once he fell into the nest of blankets and dirty clothes on his bed, his body feeling like it was ready to give out on him at any moment. He stared at the ceiling, images of curly, brown hair and green sweater vests threatening to emerge from the misty soup of his jerk-ass subconscious. He closed his eyes, sucking the last of the screwdriver out of his glass through the pink bendy straw and set it down on his bedside table with a clunk.

He sighed, mind betraying him as he recalled the pale grey of Mark's eyes when they met his.

"Goddamnit."


	2. Chapter 2

Craig knocked twice before bursting through Clyde's bedroom door. There was a very good chance he would be naked or in some sort of horrifyingly compromising situation with himself, but it was a risk Craig was willing to take. He had places to be and he would be damned if Clyde was going to slow him down with any accidental nudity.

"Jesus Christ, man," Clyde scolded as he pulled a worn Zelda shirt over his scruffy head. "I could have been jacking it or something. I mean, I usually do that in the shower so you'd be safe, but Jesus Christ all the same."

Craig, unaffected by this information, tapped his foot on the carpet, arms folded. "Speed it up, fatty, we gotta get going."

Clyde grunted in reply and zipped up his hoodie, shoving past him and thudding groggily down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Craig asked, when he saw that Clyde was not bolting for the door, but was instead making a bee-line toward the refrigerator.

"I am getting breakfast. It's what humans do in the morning before they go to their human schools," Clyde mumbled, still half-asleep. "I'm making a sausage biscuit, you want one?"

Craig rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a half-empty box of S'mores Pop-Tarts from the cabinet and threw them at him. "You're going to eat these in the car and you're going to like it."

Clyde looked down at them, shrugged, then followed him out the door.

To Craig's relief, Tweek was already waiting outside for them when they reached his house, steaming thermos in hand and hood pulled up over his head. He slipped into the back, settling comfortably amongst the dirty sweaters and fast food detritus. Unlike with Clyde, Craig waited until he was fully in the car before pulling out of his driveway.

"See, Tweek knows how to be ready. He's not an idiot failure who can't button his own pants by himself," Craig said, shaking slightly. He couldn't figure out if it was adrenaline or the energy drink he had downed before he left the house, but he didn't think too hard on it. Insulting Clyde was easier than thinking.

Clyde turned to Tweek, who had also begun to shake, not unlike a frightened dog. "Don't mind Craig. He's having emotional problems right now."

"When isn't he?" Tweek mumbled, lips pressed against the lid of his thermos. He twitched slightly.

Clyde laughed. "Tweek made a joke, Craig. You should stop being a sandy butthole for a couple of minutes and appreciate this rare occurrence."

Craig looked into the rear-view mirror and nodded at Tweek in congratulations, before stepping harder on the gas pedal.

A number of screams and sharp turns later, Craig screeched to a halt in the school parking lot. He eschewed their typical parking space (farthest left, four spaces up from the very end) and instead chose one closer to the doors. When he got out of the car, he saw that one of the rear wheels had made it into the adjacent parking space, but Craig disregarded this fact entirely.

"Okay, something is seriously wrong with you," Clyde said, helping an incredibly shaken Tweek out of the back seat.

"I'm fiiine," Craig replied, shoving the key into the lock with a shaking hand before Tweek had even shut the door behind him.

"What the fuck, man, are you on caffeine pills again? You're manic. It's scaring Tweek." Clyde narrowed his eyes at Craig, inspecting him carefully. Tweek was clutching his thermos as though it were the only thing keeping him from running away, screaming. It probably was.

"What? No, I'm fine, let's just go." Craig gave the parking lot one last scan with his eyes, then power-walked to the double doors. He caught Clyde's eye again. "No seriously, I'm awesome."

Clyde raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "Whatever you say, broseph."

*** * ***

The last five minutes of English class crawled. He reread the writing on the board for the eleventh time, then looked down at the notes he had taken, adorned with frustrated scribbles and a very bad rendition of he thought the monster from LOST should have looked like. It was part monster truck and part dinosaur. Regardless, it was not his best work. Snyder's voice droned in the background as he watched the last two minutes count down, eyes fixed solidly on the black and white clock face. About forty seconds before the clock hit 8:45, however, the bell rang, shattering his intense concentration. His shout of surprise joined Tweek's usual yelp, but he didn't let himself wallow in embarrassment as he usually would have. He had places to be. He didn't even bother to say goodbye to Token and instead slipped stealthily out the door and began jogging to chemistry class.

When Clyde caught up to him, he grabbed the strap of his bag, wheezing. "What the fuck, man. You _are_ high. There is no way you aren't high. Is it Meth? Do I need to be worried?"

Craig snorted derisively and hesitated for a beat before he opened the door. He felt his insides do some sort of complicated figure skating move when he saw that Mark was already there. He smiled unconsciously when Mark caught his eye and went to say something, but realized that his brain had ceased to form coherent thoughts and was now just making a loud, disorienting buzzing noise.

Mark smirked at him, nodding from across the room in greeting. "Hey, Craig."

Craig stared, quickly realized he was staring, then stared some more because he wasn't sure what else to do. Opening his mouth again, he managed to choke out a strangled, "Yeah," but it sounded more like a quiet squeak than proper words. He cleared his throat to try again, but decided against it and sat down. He didn't trust himself to not throw up.

Mark just grinned, then turned back to Tommy Turner, who he had been chatting with rather amiably.

Clyde tugged on his hat strings, pulling the blue chullo hat down over his eyes. "Craig, me and Tweek love you and we are only worried for your safety. Aren't we, Tweek?"

Tweek whined.

"See? If you're selling your body to afford Meth, you can tell us. Okay, maybe you should spare Tweek the sordid details because I think it would break his fragile little heart, but I doubt I'd be too surprised."

Craig groaned, tearing off his hat to stuff into his bag. However, he realized that his hair probably looked terrible, so he pulled it back onto his head.

"No, I am not selling my body for Meth and I am not high," he hissed quietly. "I just had an energy drink this morning and also you're an asshole."

Clyde patted him on the shoulder. "That's all we wanted to hear. Whoops, here comes Skeletor. Time to zone out to thoughts of Arwen in a chainmail bikini to keep myself from shoving a pencil in my jugular."

Snorting with mock contempt, Craig rested his head in his hands. His gaze strayed to Mark. He watched intently as Mark slipped quietly into his chair and, after a few moments, pulled out his paperback. Craig still couldn't see exactly what it was, but he saw that he was at least a few more chapters in than he was before.

He blinked, wondering if it was weird that he realized this. It was, he decided, and after sneaking another sheepish look at Mark, he tried to busy himself with something that didn't make him feel like a total creeper. It was a losing battle.

After roll call—which Craig had managed to only barely survive without trying to bludgeon himself in the head with his textbook—the teacher plunged the class headfirst into a lesson that Craig was sure would have been incredibly understimulating if he hadn't gone back to staring at Mark. He scribbled idle circles in his notebook, watching Mark writing what he assumed were actual notes. The way Mark sat reeked of security and slight boredom, as though he were only here because there was nothing better to do. His hair fell into his slender face, obscuring his long, straight nose, his lips parted very slightly in concentration as he wrote. Craig rubbed his own nose self-consciously, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. There was something about Mark's face that made him feel vaguely...insignificant.

When the bell rang, Craig stretched and leaned back in his seat, giving up the break before their lab to continue his (admittedly creepy) study of Mark's classroom habits. He watched him pull out his paperback and squinted, trying to catch the cover before he flipped it open, but failed. He sighed, entertaining ideas of just going up to him and asking him what he was reading, but quickly realized that he would rather cut off his own hand than make a fool of himself again.

"Are you feeling better yet?" Clyde asked from over Craig's shoulder. "You aren't shaking anymore and it looks like you're actually paying atte—" Clyde paused. "Nevermind, you've just been drawing the whole time. Regardless, I'm pleased that you've made a speedy recovery."

Craig just grunted in reply, taking one last look at Mark before turning around in his chair. "Hey, you weren't paying any attention by any chance, were you?"

"Marginally. I have some notes." Clyde passed them forward. "Ignore the stick figure drawings of myself and Arwen making out on the back of one of those giant eagles from Lord of the Rings; it was all I could do to stay sane."

Eyes skimming the hastily scribbled notes, he handed them back. "You are shit at drawing. Also, these notes suck."

Clyde shrugged. "Whatevs, we'll just copy off of Tweek again."

"Ergh," Tweek choked. "My notes are terrible. You'll fail. We'll have to take this class again and we'll all have to deal with Mr. Bloom for another year and then you'll end up with lasting psychological damage and it will be my fault because my notes are really, really bad. You'll hate me forever."

Clyde twisted around in his seat to pat him affectionately on the head. "All for one, one for all. I'm sure they're fine."

Whimpering, Tweek handed over his notebook. The shaky, disorganized writing filled the page, which set Clyde and Craig at ease. At least half of it would be useless, but the other half would probably be enough to keep them from failing miserably on their next test.

"Good man," Clyde said, handing it back as the bell rang. Tweek stifled a yelp, burying his face in his sleeves as people filtered back into the classroom.

After the class had settled, Mr. Bloom cleared his throat at the front of the room, staring over the students as he waited for them to quiet. Craig was impressed, though unsurprised, at how quickly they did so. He shuddered.

"This is the lab portion of your chemistry class," Mr. Bloom said, looking out over the classroom. "As you all know, we will be working with things that can, and probably will, injure at least half of the students in this class."

Craig heard Tweek wheeze fearfully from behind Clyde and made a mental note to not allow him to handle anything that could possibly hurt him, although he assumed Tweek would make sure of that himself. He only half-payed attention as safety measures were gone over, eyes again straying to Mark, who had since put his paperback away entirely.

"Before we start our first lab, you are all going to pick your lab partners for the year," Mr. Bloom said as he set a box of safety goggles on his desk. "Choose wisely, because I don't care if you end up hating whoever you pick."

"Okay, Tweek," Craig turned around lazily, but stopped when he saw that both Clyde and Tweek were already standing. Together.

Tweek caught Craig's eye, then slipped quickly behind Clyde, thin fingers gripping Clyde's sleeve.

"Yeah, about that," Clyde said, scratching his head. "I'm taking Tweek this time."

Tweek peered out from behind Clyde's shoulder. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I trust you less with dangerous chemicals than I do Clyde. You've been sort of..."

"Manic and unpredictable," Clyde finished for Tweek.

"Yes, manic and unpredictable, and quite frankly, I'd like to not die in this class." Tweek paused. "I-if that's alright with you."

Craig just stared at them. "I'm going to kill Token."

Clyde gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Before you do that, you should probably find a lab partner first. God forbid you end up with Biggle."

"Shit," Craig said, looking around the room. Most of the students had already paired off, including Red, who he cursed inwardly as just as bad as her traitor boyfriend, as well as Pip, who he had been surprised to see, since he hadn't noticed him slip into to either English class or Chemistry. Unconsciously, he saw that Mark was still free, though he was sure there would have to be another, less terrible choice.

"Heya, Craig!"

Feeling his heart almost stop, Craig snuck a glance at the source of the voice, though he knew he would regret it. Much to his terror, Butters was standing only a couple yards away, hand waving blithely and braces gleaming in a way that could only be described as "ominously" in the florescent lighting. A shock of horror ran through him as he felt them make eye-contact.

It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time—to climb over two rows of desks and to stop in front of Mark, breathing heavily, eyes wild and frightened.

" _MARK_ ," he wheezed. Mark looked up at him, bewildered into silence. "Lab...partners."

Mark raised his eyebrows, took a look around the classroom, then nodded slowly, standing up from his desk. Through the unintelligible screaming in his head, Craig noticed that Mark was a lot taller than he thought he was. Craig shifted awkwardly and averted his eyes, disliking how incredibly small he felt at the moment.

Without speaking, the two of them found their place at one of the lab tables in the back. Craig let Mark pick where they sat, which, to his dismay, was on the other side of the room from Clyde. He stared longingly at Clyde as he helped Tweek adjust his safety goggles, wishing he could punch him in the gut, but also wanting cling to him like a sad baby lemur clings to its stupid, fat mama lemur.

"Here," Mark said, handing him a pair of goggles. Craig cringed, realizing he had not only forgotten them, but Mark had been attentive enough to get an extra pair for him.

"Uh. Yeah," Craig stammered out, pulling them over his eyes, careful not to get them caught in his hat strings.

Mark looked at him with an expression that Craig could only assume was contempt, probably mingled with pity and regret. It did not sit well in Craig's stomach and he was fairly certain that if the teacher didn't tell them what to do very, very soon, he was going to throw up and pass out.

Luckily, after the class had finally settled, Mr. Bloom explained their lab in excruciating detail, writing things on the board as he went. Craig found the depressing effect of Bloom's voice strangely calming as he pointedly avoided Mark's eye. Boiling solutions and predicting their boiling points. It sounded easy enough, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but play all sorts of scenarios that involved him spilling molten saline solution all over himself, or—an even more horrifying possibility—all over Mark.

He suppressed a groan of despair and squirmed uncomfortably on the too-hard wooden stool, feeling like an idiot as Mark organized everything they needed to do. He thought to possibly offer his help, but found that his jaw refused to unlock long enough to blurt out something stupid. Perhaps it was for the better. This was already starting to play out like a bad movie—he didn't want to further tempt fate by speaking.

"Can you take down numbers while I watch the burner?" Mark asked, looking up at him briefly as he fiddled with the Bunsen burner. He still looked highly unimpressed with the entire situation.

"Yeah," Craig said, swallowing thickly.

"Did you predict the boiling points yet?" Mark didn't bother to look at him this time, sticking their thermometer into the beaker of water.

"What? Oh. Uh," Craig frowned, looking down at the blank piece of notebook paper in front of him.

Mark covertly rolled his eyes and slid his paper over to him. "I've done this already. They're a few degrees off so it doesn't look like I've cheated," he said, letting Craig copy the answers down. When he finished, he pulled it back.

Craig cleared his throat again, watching Mark stare idly at the beaker as he waited for it to boil. "So, uh. What are you doing in a junior class?" Craig asked, though he quickly regretted it, as Mark was looking up at him again. It wasn't that he was looking at him with any sort of derisiveness, so much as he was just _looking_ at him.

"Huh? Oh, I'm taking it as an elective. They keep trying to get me into more art classes, but I argued my way in," Mark replied, then sighed and grimaced when the burner went out. "Hell..."

"Oh," Craig said, foot wriggling nervously against the leg of the stool. "That's, uh. That sucks," he added. He watched Mark light the burner again, then wondered if he was supposed to be doing something other than sit there and look like an asshole. He glanced over at Clyde again, who seemed to be taking care of the lab on his own with a sort of competency that made Craig feel even more useless.

"Ninety eight degrees Celsius," Mark said, pulling the beaker off of the burner with a pair of tongs.

"What?" Craig looked up, eyes wide. He had no idea what Mark was talking about.

"Just write it down for water," Mark sighed, setting the next beaker in place. He looked incredibly bored as he waited for it to boil, chin resting on the heel of his hand as his grey eyes watched the burner with little interest. Craig couldn't help but notice that his nails were very, very clean.

Feeling as though he needed to either do or say something to break the terrible silence—something that didn't involve screaming or setting himself on fire—Craig cleared his throat. He tapped the table gently with his pencil, trying to coax words from his mind and out of his mouth.

"So like, what's been up with you?" he asked, partly because it seemed like the most benign thing to say.

Mark looked up at him again. "Since we last spoke? Oh, loads of things. Middle school, high school," Mark replied, his voice too disengaged to sound properly sarcastic. He seemed to take pity on Craig, though, because he smirked slightly as his eyes went back to the beaker. "Nothing of interest, though. My little sister is ready to graduate from the community college this year and I'm still trying to get in my last few courses to graduate high school."

Craig frowned, unsure of how to reply. "That's...that's cool. I mean, Rebecca, not you having to..." he trailed off when Mark wrote down something on his paper and pulled the beaker off to cool.

Mark looked up as he was setting up the next one. "If it's alright with you, I'll just take down the numbers and you can copy them after."

Craig nodded, hesitating a beat too long before he replied. "Yeah, that's, uh, that's fine."

"Say, do you smell burning toast by any chance?" Mark asked, looking up at him again.

Craig hesitantly sniffed the air. "No?"

Mark smiled. "Good. Just checking."

Feeling a sort of intense urge to crawl under the table and shake uncontrollably, Craig clenched his teeth against any other floods of stupidity that might suddenly spew uncontrollably from his mouth. He resolved to keep quiet for the next twenty-four minutes, only opening his mouth to haltingly thank Mark for giving him the last few answers. Craig felt an overwhelming rush of relief flood over him when the bell finally rang, standing so quickly he almost knocked his stool over. He didn't even wait for Mark to say goodbye as he quickly collected his things and sped out the door.

He avoided speaking for most of the day, trying his hardest not to replay the earlier events in his head. It was only until seventh period that he had managed his vow of silence, however, though he could have gladly wallowed in shame for the rest of the day uninterrupted.

"Me gusta tacos y chalupas. Te gusta tacos y chalupas, Craig? Te gusta las chalupas spectacularrrres?" Clyde tugged again at one of Craig's hat-strings, warranting an irritable swat of Craig's hand. "Craig? Ground control to Major Craig. CRAIG!"

"Jesus, what?" Craig blurted, swatting again, though Clyde had already removed his hand from Craig's hat. "What do you want?"

"We are practicing Spanish. This is a group assignment." Clyde rested his chin in his hands. "I question your commitment to the group, Craig."

Grunting, Craig idly flipped through his textbook, not really reading any of the words.

"Clyde, you aren't even doing the assignment," Token said, squinting at the board. "Also, I don't even know if that was proper Spanish."

"Me gusta muuuchooo," Clyde cackled.

Token just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay, fine," Clyde relented. "Token, you take control of this assignment. It's kind of your job, considering the fact that you have been promoted to leader of this group due to your outstanding intelligence and good judgment."

"Like I have any choice," Token replied.

"With great power comes great responsibility," Clyde said, garnering another roll of Token's eyes.

"I appreciate the promotion, but I'm still trying to figure out what the hell we're supposed to be doing for this assignment," Token muttered, leafing through the textbook as Tweek leaned over to watch.

"Some leader you are," Clyde replied, before leaning over to bother Craig again. "Hey," he whispered, with surprising subtlety.

"What?" Craig asked in a low voice.

"You wanna talk while Token and Tweek do our work for us?"

Craig frowned. "Why are you asking me if I want to talk?"

"I can still hear you, so stop fucking around and help me with this," Token sighed, tugging at a short dreadlock in frustration. He raised his hand to call the teacher over.

Clyde caught Craig's eye once more, giving him a severe look. "We aren't done here," he muttered under his breath, before smiling at the teacher.

Much to Craig's dismay, Clyde was correct in his assertion that they weren't finished with their conversation, and once Tweek had been dropped off at his house, Clyde cleared his throat. He looked over at Craig, arms folded, face all business. Serious business.

"You are having problems and you are going to tell me why," he demanded in a matter-of-fact way that made Craig just sort of look at him stupidly. "Did I stutter? Talk. Now."

Craig's hands gripped the steering wheel. He stared at the road intently, brows furrowed. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Clyde replied, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. "It's that Mark guy, isn't it? You're freaking out about him."

"What?" Craig looked over at him, legitimately startled. He squeezed the steering wheel so hard it hurt, forcing his eyes back to the road. "No, what the hell. Why would I give a shit about him?"

"Gosh, Craig, I don't know. It probably has something to do with the fact that whenever you look at him you look like you're going to run up to him and throw up all over his shoes." Clyde rolled down the window to hang his arm out of it. "You know who you're acting like?"

Craig suddenly felt as though his insides were going to force themselves out of his mouth. His mind had gone instinctively to Stan Marsh's habit of projectile vomiting whenever he was having strong feelings about basically anything—a habit at its most noticeable when it came to his feelings about girls. Craig was seconds away from pulling over to throw up and cry in Clyde's arms, but waited for him to finish, keeping his jaw clamped shut.

"Fucking Batman," Clyde continued and Craig exhaled sharply, suddenly thankful that Clyde's brain was such an unbelievably ridiculous place. "You're all stoic and shit, and then one thing will send you off and you're fucking freaking out on the fucking Joker because he reminded you of your dead parents or some shit."

Craig looked over at him and burst out into near-hysterical laughter. "First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, I don't know, he just freaks me out for some reason."

"Are you still hung up on him skipping a grade and leaving you out in the cold or something? Because I'm pretty sure he didn't do it just to ruin your life."

Craig frowned, his brain grappling to accept this as the truth. He breathed deep and went with it, because it sounded logical enough—logical, and above all, safe. It was understandable that he was upset that Mark had practically abandoned him. It made perfect sense. Perfect, sensible sense, which Craig was not going to question in any capacity, because he was sure that if he did, he would end up thinking and feeling all sorts of things he did not want to. He let it be.

"Yeah, I guess so. I kind of hated him for, like, years after he ditched me so, like, I'm still mad or whatever," Craig mumbled, nodding as he pulled up to Clyde's driveway. Yes, it made total sense when he said it aloud. Not strange at all.

Clyde watched him for a few beats before he opened the door. "You sure you don't want to hang out for awhile? There's half a meatloaf in our fridge with your name on it."

It was tempting, but Craig shook his head. "Tomorrow, okay? I'm still worn the fuck out from getting up so goddamn early."

Clyde hesitated, then got out. "If you need to talk about anything, I'm here, okay?"

Craig rolled his eyes and grinned. "God, you are such a massive pussy. How do you live with yourself?"

"That's Mr. Pussy to you," Clyde said matter-of-factly before he closed the door and walked slowly up the driveway, almost as though he were expecting Craig to run after him.

The smile on Craig's face faded as he took his foot off the break and began the short drive home, wondering if he should just turn around. He sighed and decided against it, looking forward to another weak screwdriver and another night of trying his hardest not to think about anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the past week, Craig had made a sport of ignoring Mark. Despite the fact that he was forced to work in close quarters with him for over a half-hour every Tuesday and Thursday, he had managed to say only the bare minimum to him, and even then, he was fairly certain he was well below the acceptable amount of dialogue exchange expected of him. A pleasant side-effect of his silence, however, was that Mark had not only begun to ignore him as well, but he did most of the labs by himself, giving Craig the answers without complaint. It was doing wonders for his nerves, and while he still occasionally felt the urge to crawl under the table and cry into his hands whenever Mark caught his eye, he was feeling as though things were finally returning back to normal.

"Can you hand me that eyedropper?" Mark asked dully, during their fifth lab together.

Craig looked around him, spotting the rogue eyedropper lying somewhere near his elbow. He avoided Mark's gaze as he slid it toward him, chin still resting in his hand. Mark continued on with the lab, leaving Craig to think about more important things, such as what he was going to get for lunch today and trying to remember if he had already asked Clyde if he ever intended on returning his copy of _Clerks_.

"Do you have a problem with me or something?"

Craig jumped at the suddenness with which Mark said this. He looked around, as though Mark could have been talking to anyone else, then looked back at him, wholly disturbed.

"What? No."

Mark continued the lab, a look of vague contempt on his face. "You've been a dick to me on and off since elementary school. Have I done something to upset you, or are you just like that to everyone?"

Craig frowned. "Yeah, well, I was kind of pissed when you skipped a grade," he replied without thinking. He cringed when he realized what he said.

Mark looked up at him, his sullen attitude evaporating. "You remember that? We haven't shared maybe twenty words in the past six years," he said, lips tugging into an amused smile.

"Yeah, well," Craig mumbled, unconsciously returning his smile as he twirled an extra eyedropper in his hands. "I was a little shit back then."

Laughing, Mark shook his head. "Yeah, so was I."

"Haha, yeah," Craig said, then cringed again at his own stupidity. "Shit, sorry."

Mark waves his hand dismissively. "No, it's fine, I was. Remember when we beat up that kid together at the end of third grade? What was his name?"

Craig's smile widened, though his stomach did a somersault against his diaphragm. "Oh. Bill...or maybe Fosse. I can't remember."

"Maybe," Mark hummed, eyes misting over a bit like he was trying to remember. "God, I don't even remember what it was for."

"Yeah, I dunno," Craig lied as the memory emerged in full, Technicolor detail.

They had been sitting on the jungle gym one day after school, when the playground was mostly empty, talking about whether or not they were going to stay in South Park once they were grown-ups. Mark's legs swung idly as he lay back on the bars, arms folded behind his head. Craig sat next to him, staring up at the grey clouds that hung heavily overhead, threatening snow. He remembered wondering if anybody had ever left this town before, because he couldn't think of a single person who had ever moved away. Mark was telling him that he was going to move to India when Bill and Fosse had appeared below them. One of them told Mark and Craig that they needed the jungle gym for their base. Craig had told them to fuck off, flipped them the customary bird and was content to leave it at that, but what followed next had left a lasting imprint on his mind.

He hadn't expected Mark to react quite so violently when one of them had called Mark and Craig gay. Craig remembered wondering if he should tell Mark that it was okay and that they said that about everything, but after only a moment's hesitation, he instead dropped down to help. The accusation had hit home a little too closely.

When Mark finally backed down and told them to run, they did.

Craig had never been so impressed with anyone in his life.

"Not that I condone senseless violence, but I thought you were such a badass," Mark said, shaking Craig out of the memory. "I was pretty upset when you stopped talking to me."

Craig exhaled sharply and grinned, feeling his face grow warm and his insides squirm with excited energy. Everything was suddenly good in the world again, or, at the very least, not so terrible. Newfound exhilaration bubbling up in him, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by a loud cough behind him. He didn't have to turn around to see who it was, the flush draining from his cheeks.

"You're having a good time," Bloom wheezed from behind him, his voice making the hairs on Craig's neck stand on end.

Craig searched for words to respond with. He looked unconsciously to Mark for help, but Mark just smirked and returned to their lab.

Bloom leaned over his shoulder, to look at what he had written so far. "Impressive," he said. "Maybe you should look into tutoring, but that's probably asking too much."

Craig frowned at the cryptic accusation, looking at his answers as Bloom shuffled off to go breathe on someone else.

"What was that about?" he mumbled, still looking down at his work, before hearing a quiet snort from Mark. He looked up to see him covering his mouth, trying to stem uncontrollable laughter. "Uhmm?"

Mark straightened up, trying hard not to smile. "Try not to be _too_ mad at me," he said, finally gaining control of himself.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Craig could have sworn he looked almost guilty.

"I've been giving you the wrong answers for the past three labs," Mark said, smirking sheepishly. "Well, four, if you count this one so far."

Craig stared at him, mouth agape. "You...what?"

Mark shook with silent laughter, wiping his face with a hand. "I'm sorry, you were really pissing me off."

Blinking a couple of times, Craig continued to stare in bewildered silence before finally speaking. "Oh my god, you're a dick."

"Yeah, I'm inclined to agree with that," Mark said, watching Craig stare at him.

The fact that Mark looked so incredibly guilty, while still finding the situation completely hilarious made Craig break into a grin before he could stop himself. He shook his head.

"I can't believe it. Were you ever going to stop?" he asked.

Mark shrugged, returning his grin. "If you stopped being an asshole, yeah. If not, well, I guess you'd have failed chemistry," he replied. "You'd have deserved it, too, since the answers I gave you were pretty awful."

Craig was too shocked and, honestly, impressed to feel properly upset or embarrassed. He found it almost surreal that he was now laughing with him, and realized he couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that Mark had not only deliberately sabotaged him, but made a fool of him in the process. Really, he found the fact that Mark disarmed him so thoroughly downright impressive in itself. The thought, however, made a slight blush return to his cheeks and he covered his mouth to suppress what could only be described as a nervous giggle. This whole situation was absurd.

"Should I just assume you hate me now? And any chance at rekindling childhood friendship is beyond repair?" Mark asked with an apprehensive smile.

Craig shook his head again and laughed, a little louder than he meant to. "I can't," he said, resting his chin in his hand, looking at Mark with something approaching admiration. "This is too ridiculous."

"Honestly, I was expecting you to be a little more upset with me," Mark said, grinning as he returned to their work.

"Yeah, well," Craig replied. He watched Mark's hands carefully for a moment, then straightened up. "Do you want some help or anything?"

Mark continued, brow furrowed in concentration. "Oh, no. It's actually just easier to do it by myself. I'm almost finished anyway." He looked up at him. "I'll give you the right answers this time, though."

Craig leaned forward to continue watching him, still smiling unconsciously. "Okay," he said, letting is chin fall back into his hand.

"If you have any questions about what I'm doing, feel free to ask," Mark said, aiming carefully with his eyedropper. "If you don't mind my assumption that you haven't been paying attention in class."

Snorting, Craig rolled his eyes, despite the fact that it was the truth. "Will do."

They fell into comfortable, if excited, silence that Craig couldn't bear to break, despite the fact that he had no idea what it was that Mark was doing. After a few more minutes of watching with legitimate interest, Mark finally slid his answers toward him.

"You really should pay attention next time, though," Mark said. "I might start slipping you wrong answers again just for the fuck of it."

Craig smiled stupidly. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he continued to copy down answers, rewording them to make it sound like he wasn't copying them from someone considerably smarter than he was.

"God, you are seriously a dick," he said, not looking up. "How did I never realize this?"

Mark laughed. "You were too busy being a dick yourself. Think of what we could have accomplished if we'd stayed friends."

Handing him back his paper, Craig felt his insides squirm delightedly. "Yeah."

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the shrill ringing of the bell. "Shit," he said, looking at the mess he had left on the table.

Craig froze for a moment, then shook his head furiously.

"Oh. Shit. I'll get it if you want," he said, rushing forward to clean up, almost toppling a glass bottle in his near-panic. Somewhere in the back of his head, he worried that he had messed everything up, as irrational as that was.

"No, I've got it," Mark said, watching Craig try to set the bottles right again. "I'm a good student; I have the luxury to be late every once in awhile."

Craig coughed and straightened up, noticing Mark's amused smile. "Oh. Okay," he said awkwardly, hesitating a moment before turning to go.

"Do you maybe want to go hang out at the mall on Saturday?"

Turning back around, Craig stared at him. "I, uhh," he stammered, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

"It's alright if you don't want to," Mark said, nonchalantly gathering up the lab supplies. The tone of his voice made Craig's knees feel as though they were made of oatmeal.

"Okay, yeah," Craig said, nodding and swallowing thickly. "Yeah, that'd be—that'd be really cool." He grimaced slightly at his word choice.

"Here's my number in case something comes up and you can't make it." Mark tore off a sheet of notebook paper and scribbled something down before handing it to him. "At four? By the food court?"

Craig looked down at the paper and the phone number written hastily on it. He couldn't help but feel a certain elation at just how nice Mark's "7"s looked.

"Okay," he said, nodding as he pried his gaze away from the paper. He went to speak again, but the bell rang once more, causing Craig to jump and curse loudly. "Shit. I have to go."

"See you," Mark said, smiling as he moved toward the sink.

"Yeah," Craig replied. He forced his legs to move, knowing if he hesitated any longer, he'd have stayed until Mark finished. He bolted from the room and down the hall, slowing to a walk as he reached his History classroom. Before he opened the door, he looked down at the phone number one more time before folding it twice and tucking it safely away in his messenger bag. Trying to reign in his almost uncontrollable grin, he slipped into the classroom, flashing an apologetic look at his History teacher as he took his seat.

The rest of the day passed far more quickly than Craig realized was possible, his idle moments filled with a sort of sublime sense of satisfaction. He found himself paying slightly more attention in class than was usual, and even offered the last of his fries to Clyde at lunch, which had garnered him strange looks that he pointedly ignored. It was only when they reached Clyde's car that Clyde finally commented on his strange behavior.

"Okay, I give up," Clyde said as Craig and Tweek piled into his car. "First, you're all depressed like you're gonna go and fling yourself out of a window or someshit. Then, you go all meth addict on us. _Then_ , you go back to being all depressed, only to completely snap out of it and give me your fucking french fries like I'm your best friend in the whole world. What the hell?"

Craig patted his shoulder, leaning back in his seat. "But you are."

Clyde furrowed his brow. "I'm what?"

"My best friend, shithead," Craig replied. He smacked Clyde affectionately on the cheek a couple of times, which Clyde just took, bewildered.

Tweek let out a soft, strained whine from the backseat. "Okay, I actually don't think I'm overreacting for once when I say that something is terribly, terribly wrong and that there is legitimate reason for concern."

"Pshh, I'm fine," Craig said, emphatically. "I mean it, I'm fucking awesome. Man, it's fucking sunny out today, what's up with that?"

Tweek whined again from the backseat and Clyde heaved a sigh.

"You're coming over to my place because I am not going to leave you alone in this state," Clyde said, starting the car. "You don't have any say this time."

Craig opened the window, letting his elbow rest outside the car. "Cool, okay."

"What, no excuses? No complaining?" Clyde raised an eyebrow, still watching the road. "With the exception of Monday—which, I might add, was completely ruined by your sudden emotional outburst at Token—you've been dodging us ever since school started."

Furrowing his brow, Craig grunted in reply. "Do you want me over or not?"

"That's a little better," Clyde relented, honking his horn as they passed Tom Selleck, who was sitting patiently on the side of the road. "Seriously, though, I'm glad you actually _want_ to come over."

Craig grunted again, this time more pleasantly.

*** * ***

"I hear you Hans! Luke's trapped in the well again?" Clyde shouted as he struggled with the key to his house. As soon as they had reached the doormat, a cacophony of barks sounded from inside. "Dammit, Hans, why can't you just shoot the lock open like a proper outlaw?"

"He has no thumbs," Tweek said, taking the key from him and shoving it into the lock, twisting the door open.

Craig steadied himself as Hans—full name, Han Solo—imparted saliva and affection onto each of them, nearly knocking them over in the moist and uncomfortable process. Hans wriggled excitedly as he weaved between them, finally settling enough for them to move into the kitchen to acquire some food from the bountiful Donovan cache.

"Nachos?" Clyde suggested, head thrust fully into the snack cabinet. An untouched bag of trail mix fell out as he rummaged around.

"Only if you promise to use real cheese and not that jarred crap," Craig mumbled, picking long strands of Border Collie hair off of his hoodie.

Clyde tossed a bag of corn chips onto the table. "Tough titties, I like the jarred crap. You can have hummus and carrots with Tweek if you're so disgusted by the food of my people."

Tweek offered Craig his tub of hummus.

Craig sighed. "Fine, whatever. If I die from heart disease, I'll make sure my parents sue you for all of your money."

"The only thing you're going to be dying from is intense flavor, Craig," Clyde said, scooping out the viscous orange slime into a bowl. He doctored it with half a can of green chili peppers and generous helping of salsa before setting it lovingly in the microwave.

"So I see you and Mark are talking again," Clyde said, not taking his eyes off of the slowly spinning bowl of cheese.

"Yeah, and?" Craig replied irritably.

"Just making an observation," Clyde responded, taking the bowl out of the microwave exactly five seconds before it went off. "So are you guys friends yet?"

Craig scowled. "I dunno? Jesus, that smells awful," Craig said when Clyde held the bowl of melted cheese-product under his nose, though he was only being half truthful. The smell teetered between absolutely disgusting and vaguely intriguing, kind of like the cheddar cheese Cup Noodle that Clyde had bought and eaten on a dare.

"You always say that about my cooking," Clyde said, gathering the chips into his other arm. "Well, I'm glad you two are at least talking again."

Hans followed them upstairs to Clyde's bedroom, letting Tweek lie on him as Clyde and Craig went through Clyde's collection of video games.

"I don't get why me and him talking is even a thing," Craig finally replied, holding out Mario Kart.

"Come _on_ , you always want to play Mario Kart," Clyde groaned. "And it _is_ a thing, because you're basically the most misanthropic jerk I know."

"I'm not playing one of your stupid football games," Craig grunted. "And if you really want to fucking know, me and him hanging out on Saturday."

Clyde paused. "Seriously? I don't think you've hung out with anyone who wasn't in our immediate friends group since sixth grade."

Craig frowned, mostly because this was true. "So what?" he asked, suddenly feeling very defensive.

"Just commenting on the fact that it's weird, is all," Clyde replied, holding his hands up in defeat. "Okay, seriously, just pick something that isn't Mario Kart before I make you watch me play Spyro for the billionth time."

Craig grumbled, pulling out one of the many Mortal Kombat games Clyde owned.

"Here. Jesus."

Clyde rolled his eyes, obviously biting his tongue. "I'm not going to call you predictable," he said as he fiddled with the elaborate setup of his bedroom's entertainment center.

"Then don't," Craig replied as he settled on the floor in front of the TV. He leaned his head comfortably against the foot of Clyde's bed, grabbing one of the GameCube controllers that Clyde threw to him. There was something undeniably soothing about how easily he slipped back into their routine—something he suddenly realized he had missed. As he loaded a tortilla chip with molten cheese product, he wondered why he had ever fought this.

*** * *  
**

To: Tubby

I can't do it.

Sent Sept 24, 3:34 pm

* * *

From: Tubby

cant do what did you fall in the toilet again

Received Sept 24, 3:36 pm

* * *

To: Tubby

fuck you. i am freaking out what do i do

Sent Sept 24, 3:37 pm

* * *

From: Tubby

slow down seabiscuit. tell mamma clyde whats wrong

Received Sept 24, 3:39 pm

* * *

To: Tubby

so mark invited me out right

Sent Sept 24, 3:39 pm

* * *

From: Tubby

right. are you going to eat up my texts this month with this nonsense or are you going to cut to the chase?

Received Sept 24, 3:41 pm

* * *

To: Tubby

i haven't talked to him in forever and now i want to throw up and die. i am going to die clyde.

Sent Sept 24, 3:42 pm

* * *

Craig jumped and nearly threw his phone across the room when it went off, vibrating and blaring "Lust for Life" at an obscene volume.

"My fingers are too fat for the keys," Clyde replied amiably after Craig answered his call. "Now what the hell is going on?"

Craig groaned melodramatically into the mouthpiece. "I can't go. He's going to think I'm an asshole."

"Well, considering you _are_ an asshole, at least it wouldn't be false advertising?" Clyde replied, in a way that Craig assumed was an attempt to be helpful. It wasn't.

"Clyde."

"Okay, okay, fine," Clyde relented. "Jeeze, you really need to get out more and start talking to new people. Me and Token have ruined you for normal social interaction."

"I hate everything."

"I know, now hold on, I am hatching a plan all up in here."

"Help."

"Okay, okay," Clyde began, speaking quickly. "So like, you're going to the mall, right? Maybe be like, 'hey this is my friend Clyde and he's hella cool because he's gonna go like, I dunno, go buy his mom a present at Yankee Candle. Bitches love Yankee Candle.' Except don't call my mom a bitch because then I'll hit you."

Craig thumped his head rather ineffectively against his pillow. "You're embarrassing me already. This won't work."

"No, man. Seriously, say whatever, I'm just giving you ideas."

"You're giving me a migraine."

"Wait, what if we take Tweek, too?" Clyde suggested, blithely ignoring Craig's despair. "Then it'll be less awkward or whatever. Just be like, 'Hey Mark, just dropping off my bros here' and leave it at that. Then you can escape to us when shit goes all crazy and you inevitably throw up on his shoes."

Craig paused for a moment, thinking it over. It seemed solid enough, considering the likeliness that he _was_ going to vomit all over Mark.

"I'll pick you up at four. Call Tweek."

He changed his shirt three more times and his shoes twice before he settled on an outfit, making a valiant attempt to not feel ridiculous at his need to look, well, _nice_.

"Look at you," Clyde cooed when he and Tweek piled into Craig's car. He reached out to touch his hair, an action which Craig promptly halted. "You brushed your hair and everything. The ends get all flippy when you do that."

"Fuck off," Craig replied, sneaking a look in the rear-view mirror. He frowned, mussed his hair a bit, then smoothed it before mussing it once again. Now, it didn't even look like he had brushed it in the first place, which may or may not have been a good thing. He tried not to think on it too hard.

"Aww, it looked nice," Clyde said, brushing a stray strand away from Craig's forehead. "Honestly, we're never going to get you married off."

Craig slammed on the gas pedal in reply, eliciting a yelp from the both of them.

Not distracted by the ordeal of choosing the proper shoes to go with his shirt, Craig was once again forced into his own mind. He tried hard to think about anything other than the likeliness that this whole situation was going to go to shit very, very quickly and Mark was not only going to think he was an idiot, but would probably never speak to him again in any capacity. He barely stifled a whine when they were stopped at a light, only seconds before they reached the mall parking lot. He wanted to get the inevitable vomiting and crying and apologizing over as soon as possible.

"Dude," Clyde said, much to Craig's relief.

"Shut up. Whatever you have to say, just shut up," Craig said, probably a lot louder than he meant to. "No, I mean, don't shut up."

"Uhh."

"Please, keep talking," Craig said through his clenched teeth. "Talk about Arwen's bouncy tits for all I care, just please make words at me."

"Dude," Clyde said again, this time soothingly. He placed a comforting hand on Clyde's arm. Much to Craig's relief, it actually comforted. "He wouldn't have asked you out if he didn't, like, like you and want to chill with you and shit."

Sage words, but Craig couldn't bring himself to believe them.

"But I'm an asshole and nobody likes me. And I don't like anybody. This is stupid," Craig said, forehead bumping against the top of the steering wheel. "I can't. I'm turning around."

"It's okay," Clyde cooed, patting him gently. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"Oh my god," Craig said, bumping his head against the steering wheel a few more times. "Stop making such a big deal out of this. I'm just going to turn around once this fucking light ends."

"I, uhm," Tweek stammered from the back seat. "I think you should go."

"What? Why?" Craig groaned, resisting the urge to crawl into Clyde's lap, despite how pathetic and impractical this would be. "You of all people should be telling me this is a terrible idea."

"Well," Tweek began, "because if you don't, you're going to worry about it forever because that's what you do. And, uhh, you won't be able to get over it because you'll always wonder whether or not you guys would actually become friends again and actually like each other and stuff now that you're older. It'll eat away at you, when it would have just been easier to talk to him and know for sure whether or not he likes you and wants to, like—green light—hang out with you more and stuff."

Craig lifted his head from the steering wheel and blinked.

Tweek took a deep breath. "I could just be projecting, I don't know. And I said 'green light' so please move the car so people don't start honking at us."

"I, uh. Yeah. Wow," Craig stuttered, pressing down on the gas pedal. "Yeah, no, that makes sense."

"So can I hold you to this little get-together?" Clyde said as Craig pulled into the parking lot.

"Yep," Craig replied simply, hoping this newfound courage was not just the effect of being blindsided by the fact that Tweek was actually being less paranoid than he was.

"And if you stall out halfway to the food court, I can pick you up and carry you he rest of the way, eventually depositing you unceremoniously at Mark's feet?"

"What? No, just stop," Craig said, finding an empty parking space as close to the doors as he could. The less time he spent walking, the less likely he would be to hide in Ruby Tuesday's and cry into a plate of potato skins.

"I'll take that as a yes," Clyde said, taking off after Craig as he got out of the car and shot off toward the entrance.

Craig almost jogged to the food court with Clyde and Tweek following a few paces behind him. He was fairly certain if he didn't keep moving, his legs would give out entirely. He was also fairly certain that if they did fail, Clyde would soon be trying to reenact the scene from _Return of the King_ where Samwise Gamgee carries Frodo Baggins up Mt. Doon to destroy the One Ring—all the while yelling about how Craig can't go where he can't follow in a very bad Scottish accent. Clyde's predilection for lifting people shorter than he was, as well as reenacting scenes from _The Lord of the Rings_ whenever possible, wasn't something Craig was going to bet against, so he just kept walking at as quick a pace as he could manage.

However, as soon as he caught a glance of wavy brown hair belonging to someone in a dark green sweater, he stopped dead. With the same disarming, lanky grace that always managed to make Craig feel like an asshole, Mark leaned against a railing, looking down thoughtfully at the phone in his hand. Though he had exchanged a few words with Mark before class on Friday, Craig realized was entirely unsure of how to even approach him outside of a classroom setting. Perhaps Token and Clyde _had_ ruined him for life. It was likely.

Taking a deep breath, Craig swallowed nervously before continuing toward him, praying he wasn't going to throw up all over his sweater before he had even said hello.

It was a very nice sweater.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Mark eventually looked up to see him walking over, flashing a wide grin at Craig that made him want to turn around and run as fast as he could in the other direction.

"You're late," Mark said amiably, still grinning wide.

"Buh," Craig responded.

At that moment, Mark seemed to notice Clyde and Tweek, because his gaze shifted to something behind Craig and his grin had faltered slightly.

Craig silently cursed his friends for reasons he was unsure of, considering this was the plan in the first place.

"Oh, hey. Clyde, right?" Mark asked, recovering from the initial confusion. "And...Tweek?"

"Sup," Clyde responded coolly, while Tweek made a strained noise that was possibly a greeting, but could have been something else entirely.

Craig wheeled around to shoo them off. "Okay, you can leave now," he said through clenched teeth. He wanted to actually make a shoo-ing gesture with his hands, but all he could bring himself to do was nervously bunch his hands into fists. Also, it probably would have made him look like an idiot.

"They can come too, if you'd like," Mark suggested passively from behind him. "I figured we could walk around for awhile. Maybe grab some food and catch a movie?"

Before Craig had a chance to answer, Clyde leaned in over his shoulder and grinned wide. "We'd love to."

Craig narrowed his eyes at Clyde, though he was unsure of whether or not he wanted to hug him and thank him, or break his nose. Instead, he turned around and forced a smile at Mark, which quickly turned into a real smile when Mark returned it.

To Craig's disbelief, the next two hours passed without incident. They had browsed stores, making idle small talk, which Clyde and Mark had primarily dominated. Even when Clyde had dragged them into Yankee Candle, Mark had just smiled appreciatively at the various displays and talked about scented candles before he bought one for his sister. Things were, Craig thought, disturbingly alright. His only regret was that he couldn't bring himself to say very much, though both Mark and Clyde had both made valiant attempts to include him. He just didn't trust himself to not say something stupid. Even more alarmingly, he had even managed to begin enjoying himself by the time they made it back to the food court.

Tray of Chinese food in hand, Craig slipped into one of the four chairs at the table Mark had chosen in one of the emptier corners of the food court. Clyde and Tweek were still in line at the mall's trashy little Tex-Mex stand, leaving him and Mark alone for the first time since they had gotten here. He was about to say finally say something unprompted when, to his dismay, he noticed how starkly Mark's dinner—a salad and a small bag of potato chips—contrasted the greasy Beef and Broccoli pooling lifelessly on his plastic plate. He couldn't even recall a place in the mall where Mark could have gotten a salad.

"That looks...appetizing," Mark said with a grin that made Craig feel, despite its utter pleasantness, horribly inadequate.

Blushing wildly, Craig stabbed at a limp piece of brown broccoli with his fork, examining it. He wondered if he should make up some sort of excuse about how they got his order wrong, but who was he kidding? He put it in his mouth. Belying the sheer grossness of its appearance, it was delicious, in only the way food court Chinese food could be.

"Totally disgusting," Craig replied, with a touch of euphoria.

Mark chuckled and shook his head. "I bet."

"HEY, CRAIG!" Clyde's voice sounded from halfway across the food court, effectively shattering Craig's buzz into tiny, miserable fragments. He looked over to see Clyde waving his arms slowly with Tweek standing behind him, mirroring Craig's distress.

Craig covered his face with both hands for a moment before turning to him, silently mouthing, "What!" at him.

"WE'RE GONNA EAT WITH KEVIN. THAT OKAY, BRO?"

Rubbing his temples, Craig looked up and shouted, "FINE!" at them. He couldn't help but notice that Kevin was wearing a cape. When it finally registered that Mark was still sitting across from him, he wondered idly if he should just give up now and set himself on fire right here with his pocket lighter. It might distract Mark from the fact that Craig's friends were basically the worst people in the world and that Craig was, by association, a total asshole for hanging out with them. Maybe Mark would even visit him in the burn ward after his horrible and completely not self-inflicted accident, because, really, who would set themselves on fire due to a bunch of idiot friends?

Gathering his courage, Craig chanced a look at Mark and was met with an amused, though surprisingly delighted smirk.

"He's something else," Mark said with a quiet laugh, eyes fixed on Craig. "Does he do this often?"

Craig laughed as well before he could stop himself. It sounded a little more anxious than he would have liked, but it made him feel better. "He's an ass. I don't know how he lives with himself," he confided, trying not to look over at Clyde in case he was doing something particularly ridiculous.

Mark's smirk widened. "If that's how you talk about your friends, I'd hate to be one of your enemies," he teased.

Feeling the flush return to his cheeks, Craig smiled apprehensively and picked at his food. "He's not that bad."

"I don't remember him being quite so," Mark paused to choose his words. " _Colorful_ as he is now. Not that that's a bad thing."

"He's always been weird, but he's just gotten louder about it since middle school," Craig replied before taking another bite of his food. It was strange that Mark knew Clyde from years before, at least somewhat. It seemed sort of wrong that Mark knew so much about his life, despite almost being a complete stranger now.

"I'm impressed that you've stayed such good friends since third grade," Mark said, a bit wistfully.

Craig flashed a slightly embarrassed smile and busied himself with his meal. "Preschool, actually."

Clyde chose that exact moment to loudly exclaim that he was "the Goddamn Batman," causing Craig's head to jerk in his general direction. Much to his horror, Clyde was trying to wrestle a chicken nugget from Kevin, who was attempting, in retribution, to bonk him on the head with his ever-present Lightsaber. Tweek just looked highly disturbed. People were staring.

"Oh my god, Clyde," Craig groaned, wrenching his eyes away from the scene and back to Mark. Much to his surprise, Mark was neither staring at them (nor Craig) with utter contempt, but was instead watching with a bemused smile. After Clyde had settled down, Mark's gaze went back to Craig, a slightly perplexed expression still on his face, as though looking to him for some sort of explanation of his friend's ridiculous behavior.

"He's not normally that bad," Craig said quickly, knowing it was a lie. He got the feeling Mark realized it was a lie as well, because he had gone back his salad with an amused grin.

"Oh, I'm sure," Mark replied. There was still a look of slight disbelief on his face that made Craig wonder how much of this he would be able to stand before Mark stopped talking to him entirely.

"He's usually a lot better when Token's around," Craig mumbled, as though that fact was any excuse.

"Oh, you're still friends with Token?"

Craig looked up from his plate, the feeling of surreality of having Mark back in his life creeping up on him again. "Yeah, why?"

"He's been in a couple of my classes over the past two years. We have some mutual friends, actually. He's a pretty nice guy," Mark said. "Talented, too."

"Yeah, he's a good actor," Craig agreed, moving the last few grains of rice around on his plate. "Better than Clyde, at least."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem to have some opinions on the acting abilities of your friends. Are you into theater too?" Mark asked, looking genuinely curious.

Craig squirmed a bit, unsure of how to respond. He wasn't sure, but he felt kind of like he was being scrutinized.

"I, uhh. Not really," he replied. "I mean, I don't hate it, I guess, but I like film more. You get a lot more precision when it comes to basically everything."

Mark rested his chin in his hand. "You sound like you know what you're talking about. So you're into film, then?"

"I, uh," Craig stammered, Mark's expression making him suddenly doubt the validity of everything he had ever liked in his entire life. "Not really."

"Bullshit. Your eyes lit right up when you mentioned it."

Blushing wildly, Craig let his hair fall into his face. "It's just a hobby."

"Considering I'm terrible at anything even approaching artistic, I can assure you I'm already impressed," Mark said with a smirk, picking up his bag of potato chips.

At that moment, a cellphone went off, playing a quiet rendition of some classical piece that Craig thought might have been Wagner. Craig was unsurprised to see Mark pull his phone out of his pocket and answer it.

"Hello? Is everything okay?" he asked into the mouthpiece, brows furrowed. "Okay... No, it's okay. I can. I'm at the mall." He paused for a few seconds. "No, seriously, it's okay, I'm not upset. Love you too. Be there in a couple of minutes."

Craig watched as he hung up, unable to help but feel slightly threatened by Mark's expression of love at the person who called him.

"I'm sorry," Mark apologized, standing up. "My sister forgot my parents are in Denver for the day. I have to go rescue her from the college library."

Frowning, though feeling slightly relieved, Craig nodded. "No, it's cool. I have a sister, too."

"Oh, yeah," Mark said absently, hesitating before he grabbed his empty plastic container. "I'm really sorry," he said again.

"No, seriously, it's cool. Ruby makes me drive her everywhere," Craig said, almost feeling like this was all somehow his fault.

Mark smiled and nodded, lingering a bit longer before he spoke again. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"See you," Craig said, feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment when Mark turned to go. He sighed and sunk low in his seat, noticing that Mark had left his bag of chips.

"Why does shit like this happen?" he asked them.

They didn't respond.

After a few moments, he looked over to see Clyde ambling toward him, Tweek in tow. Clyde sat down in Mark's empty seat with Tweek hovering just slightly behind him.

"I saw Mark run off. Did you finally do something to scare him?" Clyde asked, leaning forward with intense curiosity.

"What? No," Craig responded, tapping his fingers on the table. At least, he was fairly certain he didn't do anything. "He had to go pick up his sister."

Clyde's eyebrows rose. "Ohhh," he cooed, in a way that Craig could only describe as sympathetically.

Craig scowled, feeling vague panic start to rise in his chest. "What do you mean, 'ohhh?'"

Waiting a moment before speaking, Clyde gave him a pitying look. "Dude, are you sure it was his sister?"

"What do you mean am I sure it was his sister?" Craig snapped angrily. He was feeling intense concern by this point, as though Clyde was going to lay a ruinous bombshell of information on him that was going to kill any hope he had that Mark had actually left to rescue Rebecca.

"Dude, girls do this all the time. They have their friend call at a specific point during a date, and if it's going bad, they make up some excuse about having to leave because their sister needs them or something." Clyde patted him sympathetically on the arm. "You'd be surprised at the amount of grandmas who get rushed to the hospital when I'm on dates with their granddaughters."

"That's because you're an idiot and a bad date," Craig grunted irritably. Then, it registered what Clyde had just implied. "Wait, this wasn't a fucking date."

"It wasn't?" Clyde asked idly, inspecting the bag of chips. Craig couldn't tell if he were joking or not.

"The fuck? No!" Craig growled, snatching the bag away from him. "What the fuck, I am not dating Mark."

"Oh, okay then," Clyde said simply and—Craig was sure—a little smugly before standing up. "Are you going to eat those or are you just trying to make me feel bad?"

Craig heaved a sigh and handed him the bag, letting his head fall to the mesh table with a loud clatter, unsure of what the fuck he was feeling.

All he knew was that once again, everything was terrible.


End file.
